Dawn
by Shrrgnien
Summary: When Macavity has taken over your tribe and your loved ones are either dead, injured, or under constant threat of becoming so, you're left with nothing but hope-and not a whole lot of that. Sometimes all you can do is wait for the dawn.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay. Firstly, I owe a huge apology to anyone who still had this on story alert. It was not my intention to flood your inbox. But since you're obviously here, this is a remastering prompted by the fact that I recently realized I misspelled "Mistoffelees" repeatedly throughout the story. *winces* It's not just fixing typos either! I added a few minor things and one major thing; but for this chapter, it's all minor. I welcome any feedback; tell me how I did improving **_**Dawn**_**!**

**Chapter One**

Jemima's eyes glistened with tears as she raised her voice, her song one of many. For the first time in her life, she was struggling to sing. She knew that this was an honor, a cause for celebration rather than grief, but she still choked on the pain of knowing that she would never see her goofy, fun-loving friend again. _If only…_she couldn't help thinking. _If only she had an owner…if only she wasn't a street cat, maybe she could have been healed…_

But as the glittering paw reached down and waited patiently for the deserving Jellicle, Etcetera met Jemima's gaze and smiled, and in that instant the latter realized that this was truly the greatest gift she could have asked. Etcy was leaving her fevered, distemper-ridden body behind now, in the hope that her next life would be neither so painful nor so short. As the ethereal golden glow began to fade, Jemima raised her forepaw in a final farewell, and she thought that this might be the most perfect moment of her life.

It was when Old Deuteronomy prepared to give his traditional address on the ancient dignity of cats that things started to go wrong.

There were no theatrics this time; no chilling laughter or flickering lights. When Old Deuteronomy stood up, there was a single, blinding flash, impossibly bright. Long before their eyes had begun to recover, a cold wind swept the Junkyard, shadows took form and sprang to life, and Demeter's panicked cry of "_Macavity!_" came just an instant too late.

A scarlet blur leaped from the darkness, landing solidly on Old Deuteronomy's back and sending him tumbling from the Great Tire. Macavity's powerful jaws snapped shut on the back of the leader's neck, and a sacred life was extinguished in less time than it takes to say it.

Munkustrap gave an inhuman cry of rage and launched himself at Macavity, claws extended. In a fair fight, Munkustrap could have won. He was a formidable fighter, and the burning desire for revenge would have given him the edge he needed. But Macavity never fought fair. And he wasn't alone.

A snarling Pollicle knocked Munkustrap to the ground, and Jemima watched in horror as it swung its filthy muzzle toward his throat.

A bolt of blue-white electricity blasted the dog back. Quaxo's counterattack shattered the Jellicles' stunned trance, and the Junkyard exploded into a full-blown battlefield.

Everything was utter confusion; Jemima caught only glimpses of the battle. She saw Bombalurina and Demeter back-to-back, fighting like demons, was dimly aware of Plato hurtling out of nowhere and tackling Victoria out of the way of a blast of scarlet lightning that made Misto's look like a static shock. She didn't realize she was drifting until she heard a cruel chuckle from just above her head. Whirling, she saw a jet-black henchcat perched on top of a stack of boxes. He flicked his gaze over her dismissively, taking in her kittenish features and small size, and a sadistic smile spread across his face as he crouched to leap.

Two all-but-identical calicos catapulted over Jemima's head, intercepting the henchcat in midair as he pounced. Rumpleteazer cursed violently as her brother landed on top of her, but the black henchcat would never speak again—the notorious twins had broken his neck.

It looked as though the Jellicles would pull through. They were fighting fearlessly but intelligently, keeping together and protecting each other's backs. Mistoffelees had hidden himself in the fray and was zapping their attackers with frequent bolts of energy, keeping near the center of the group so as not to make himself an easy target. But just as the tide of the battle was beginning to turn in their favor, Macavity gave a deafening, lionlike roar. Alonzo and Bill Bailey were blasted back, and Macavity, free to act, flung a paw over the warring tribe. Blood-red bolts of energy crackled from the tips of his claws, tongues of power connecting violently over their heads in a furious lattice. The air began to spark and hum, the intensity increasing until it seemed the sound alone was pressing them into the ground like a great, heavy paw. Then there was another blinding flash, a sound like an explosion…

…..

Jemima started violently awake, her pulse galloping in her ears, hooked claws scything out on instinct, snagging fur and flesh. "Watch it!" hissed someone angrily.

The young queen's eyes flew open. She blinked and frowned as she tried to focus. She heard a familiar yet oddly nervous giggle and a collective "Shh!"

"Got'choo good there, Admetus," snickered Rumpleteazer from a few yards away.

"Sorry," Jemima whispered. Admetus shrugged, gave a tight smile, and turned away, settling back into a curled-up position.

"Thank Bast," murmured Victoria's voice. Rolling over, Jemima found her friend lying next to her, watching her anxiously. "Demeter, she's awake!"

"Oy!" barked a harsh Pollicle voice. "Keep it down! No talking!"

Victoria's ears flattened down and she flinched, head dropping to her paws; normally immaculate white, they were stained with blood tonight, and her shoulders and flanks were scored with scratches. Jemima's heart sank at the sight and the sound of the dog's voice. She'd hoped that somehow the whole thing had been a dream. She was suddenly weak with relief that Etcetera was in Heaviside; the thought of little Etcy, so vulnerable and naïve, anywhere near these characters…she shuddered.

Victoria sat up as two familiar queens padded quietly up to them. Bombalurina and Demeter were battered, bruised, bleeding from multiple wounds; Demeter was limping and Bomba's left ear was shredded. But they were alive.

"Jemima," sighed Demeter in relief. "You had us so worried." Bombalurina gave her niece a concerned once-over. Satisfied that she was unhurt, the red queen groaned slightly as she stretched out beside Pouncival, who immediately began cleaning her torn ear. She winced, but seemed to appreciate the gesture. Demeter, meanwhile, was still checking Jemima for serious injuries. Finding none, she asked worriedly, "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, mom," Jemima whispered back. "What happened?"

Quaxo, who had been situated beside Jemima, standing so still that she hadn't even seen him until he spoke, answered her. Greeting his mate with his usual loving simplicity—a paw brushing her flank, an affectionate flick of the ears—he said, "Mass unconsciousness. You're the last adult to wake up."

"Why's that?" asked Victoria, with something less than her usual curiosity.

Quaxo didn't look away from Jemima. "You weigh the least."

A terrible thought struck Jemima like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly short of breath, she gasped, "Quaxo, the kittens."

Concerned, the tuxedo tom stepped closer, covering her paw with his own. "They're fine," he assured her. "Don't worry, they'll wake up soon enough."

"No," she choked. "The electricity. I'm talking about…what if we lose…"

His eyes widened with understanding. "No, Jem, no," he said with hushed urgency. "It wasn't really lightning, love. It won't hurt them."

Jemima's eyes were still panicked. "Are you _sure_?"

Quaxo held her gaze and said slowly, firmly, "It was just a sleeping spell, Jemima. Our kittens will be fine." The calico queen gave a tiny nod, her breathing returning to normal.

And then Quaxo's words sank in.

"Your _kittens?"_ Demeter asked in amazement, eyes flicking between her daughter and the conjurer. Eyes bulging at his slip, Quaxo cowered before the golden queen and gave a terrified squeak.

Victoria just smiled—Jemima wondered briefly why it looked like such a struggle—and nodded to her brother. "Congratulations, Misto," she said softly.

Remembering herself, Demeter blinked and said hurriedly, "Yes, of course, congratulations!"

Pouncival had temporarily forgotten about caring for Bombalurina's ear. He was staring at his childhood friends with a strange mixture of wonder, confusion, and vague discomfort. "How did that happen?" he asked stupidly.

Bombalurina took the time to wink at Jemima before rolling over, her face inches from Pouncival's. "Well, Pounce," she began in a low purr, ludicrously seductive, "When certain things happen between a tom and a queen-"

"_Can we talk about something else, please?"_ Jemima said loudly.

"Shuddup over there! I said no talking!" bellowed the Pollicle who had spoken earlier.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Jemima turned to Victoria and said in a hushed whisper, "Vic, is everyone…okay? I mean, I saw what happened to...to Old Deuteronomy, but…"

The others exchanged glances, their brief moment of happiness gone. "Skimbleshanks and Jenny are fine," Demeter began carefully. "And none of the kittens are hurt. Jellylorum is fine…Alonzo is somehow fine, but…" She paused and looked at Bombalurina as if pleading for help. The red queen rose and stood protectively beside her sister.

"Cassandra lost an eye," she said, wincing, "And your sister's hurt. A Pollicle somehow got his teeth into her."

"Jenny says it's just a flesh wound," Pouncival added helpfully. "Electra's tough, she'll be all right."

Jemima sighed. For all that Electra was her half-sister—Demeter's daughter by Macavity—they had never been particularly close. Electra was a year older than Jemima, and had always been a loner. The only time they had ever had a conversation as sisters instead of friends was when Electra had given up her place at her second Jellicle Ball—what should have been her coming-of-age-ceremony—for Jemima, saying she didn't want the spotlight. Still, as strange a relationship as they had, they were family, and it was a relief to know that she wasn't seriously injured.

Bombalurina nodded slightly, looking nervous. This in itself was enough to set off alarm bells in Jemima's head. Bomba _never _looked nervous_._ "Jem," she said reluctantly, "There's no easy way to tell you this, but…well…Munkustrap's dead."

There was a long pause. Quaxo shifted so that he was closer to Jemima, and she leaned into him, fighting for control of her emotions. Finally she managed to whisper, in a fairly steady voice, "Who else?"

This time, Quaxo answered. "Tumblebrutus broke his leg when Macavity did the repulsion spell. He might survive, we don't know yet. Nobody knows _what_ happened to Tantomile and Coricopat, but we think they escaped…"

Comforting as it was to hear that her friends might be safe, Jemima got the distinct impression that her mate was keeping something from her; or at the very least, that there was something he didn't want to say. Irritated and worried, she turned to Victoria and said desperately, "Who…" she paused and looked around. A sinking suspicion began to form. "Vic…where's Plato?"

The glistening tears in her friend's eyes answered the question.

"Oh, Vic, _no…."_

"He fell," Victoria breathed. "I didn't see it…but…it looks like he was fighting on the chair, and it fell…"

Unwillingly, Jemima looked over to the splintered wreckage of the old chair, which everyone was giving a wide berth. She couldn't bring herself to look closely at the unnaturally still, pale mound of fur buried in the wood.

"Victoria…I'm so…"

Jemima trailed off as a silent line of henchcats and dogs began pressing in from their left. The creatures moved slowly and purposefully, shoulder-to-shoulder, with the deliberateness of those who expect to be obeyed. The cold look on their faces prompted the Jellicles to waste no time retreating to the center of the Junkyard. Looking around, they found that it hadn't been a line so much as a vast ring of enemies herding them closer together. The wounded cats pulled themselves to their feet, some more painfully than others; Electra needed only a steadying arm from Jellylorum to compensate for her injured shoulder, while Tumblebrutus was all but sobbing in pain as he tried to limp along with Jennyanydots and Skimble supporting him. He moved slowly, and the henchcats were obviously irritated as they tried to hurry him along. Electra hissed at a particularly pushy henchcat, who clawed her across the face. Alonzo ushered her protectively behind him, hissing at the henchcat as he swept Cassandra into Jellylorum's comforting presence; the graceful Abyssinian's face was covered in blood, and she jumped and gasped when Alonzo accidentally approached her from her blind side. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, Jemima noticed, were included with the rest of the Jellicles. Apparently, their bravery on behalf of their tribe had not gone unnoticed. The twins had chosen their side, and while Jerrie was bruised badly and Teazer had twisted her ankle, they looked strangely proud to prisoners with the others.

Thankfully, Macavity's gang halted their advance once the Jellicles were clustered manageably in the center of the gathering area. Tumblebrutus immediately collapsed, breathing heavily, and the others settled slowly to the ground around him. After a short pause, a huge Pollicle stepped forward. All eyes went to him immediately. He scanned the arrayed cats and sneered derisively before announcing in a ringing voice, "There is a conjurer among you." There was a long pause. "Where is he?"

Silence.

The dogs still standing in the circle began to growl and bark, and the head Pollicle snarled in a deadly voice, "You will regret it if you do not tell us which of you is the conjurer."

To the everlasting glory of the Jellicle tribe, not a single cat gave Quaxo away. None of them so much as glanced in his direction. On the contrary, they drew ever so slightly closer together, lifting their heads boldly. This was their form of resistance.

Eyes burning with fury at this blatant defiance, the dog lunged forward and grabbed the youngest kitten in the tribe. He dragged her forward by one leg and standing threateningly above her, a heavy paw on her chest all that was needed to keep the tiny creature still. "You," growled the Pollicle. "Which cat is the magician, girl?"

Tiny Courtesy, who was younger than Jemima had been at her first Ball, looked up at the snarling dog, eyes wide with fear. But she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head bravely, even trying to claw at her captor. His eyes flashed murderously, and he raised a paw to strike at the kitten.

It was enough to bring Quaxo catapulting to his feet. He yelled—Mr. Mistoffelees who rarely spoke louder than a decorous murmur—"Leave her alone! It's me!" To prove his point, he raised a paw and summoned one of his favorite tricks; what he called the Flaming Fan. Five tongues of blue flame whirled around his paw like a Catherine wheel. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he transformed the flames into a frog, which he bent down and released. It gave a mournful _ribbit_ before dissolving into golden sparks.

"Presto," he whispered.

The grim circle began shifting, muttering amongst itself. The Pollicle, though clearly disconcerted, rallied quickly. "Your new leader wants to see you," he said in a tone that clearly stated the audience was not optional.

Jemima knew that. Still, as Mistoffelees rose from his kneeling position to follow the dog, she couldn't stop herself from reaching out, putting a paw on his arm, stopping him. "Quaxo," she whispered, wishing her voice didn't sound so much like a scared kitten's.

Turning instinctively at the sound of his name, Quaxo's eyes gentled when he saw the terror written on Jemima's face. Taking her extended paw between his own, he knelt again and kissed it tenderly, meeting her eyes with a soft smile. Jemima's eyes closed of their own accord, and she held his paw to her cheek, purring gently.

"Aaaw," said the Pollicle sarcastically. "If you want to see your girlfriend again in one piece, boy, maybe you shouldn't keep Macavity waiting!"

Quaxo didn't budge, his eyes locked on Jemima as if waiting for her permission. "Go," she whispered, pulling away. "He's right, you have to go."

"Good girl," sneered the Pollicle. Suddenly violent, he barked at Mistoffelees, "Now, _move!"_


	2. Chapter 2

**[A/N] Not too much changed in this chapter. Altered some sentences, improved a bit of word choice, and of course I spelled Misto's name right.**

**Chapter 2**

Quaxo had a sneaking suspicion about where they were going, and he hoped to Heaviside that he was wrong. But no, the Pollicle and the other three charming guards—two rats and a cat—kept pressing on to the very back corner of the Junkyard. It was an area the Jellicles avoided at all costs. It was too far away from the gathering area, too isolated, and—most importantly—far too dangerous. He couldn't help but wonder what even these unsavory characters wanted with the place. They were likely to be injured by the sharp tin cans and broken glass that had never been cleared away, or else mugged by…

Oh. Right. Macavity's gang.

Quaxo was expecting the usual unfriendly, abandoned landscape, so it came as a surprise when he saw a light up ahead. As the group rounded a corner, his eyes widened involuntarily.

The scene before his was undeniably impressive. It was similar to the Jellicle gathering place at first glance; junk had been cleared out of a large central arena, all the bits of glass and sharp metal painstakingly removed. This wide hallway led to a great Tire of the same kind in the gathering area, but instead of being weathered and worn by age, this tire was crisp, new, and far too good to be in a junkyard. Quaxo felt it safe to assume the tire was stolen.

There was one stark difference between this place and the gathering area. Here there were none of the innumerable openings and passages and entrances to dens that characterized the Jellicle center, nor were the boundaries of the area formed from the varied pieces of junk that had become Junkyard landmarks. Here, the hall was formed from cardboard boxes stacked one on top of another in a high wall on either side. There would be no easy scaling of that wall, no chance of a quick escape. It was, for a cat, an impenetrable barrier.

Then, of course, there was the biggest difference of all. Lounging on the new tire, watching Quaxo's approach slowly with deep, sunken eyes, was the Hidden Paw himself. Macavity was even more terrifying now than he had been two years ago when he first attacked the tribe in earnest. While this wasn't as high-octane an encounter, it was more chilling; here, Macavity was unmistakably in charge. He could have Quaxo killed with a word or a gesture.

Thinking a lot of things that would have made Tantomile wash his mind out with soap if she'd been around, Quaxo walked up to the tire, stopping a safe distance away. Macavity dismissed the guards with a careless wave of his paw, never taking his brooding eyes away from the tuxedo tom. For a long time, neither cat moved. The two conjurers simply looked at each other, silent and still.

When Macavity finally broke the silence, it wasn't with a roar or an explosion, or even the threat Quaxo was waiting for. He simply asked, quite civilly, "What's your name?"

Taken aback, Quaxo answered automatically, "Mistoffelees."

"Yes," Macavity mused. "The magical Mr. Mistoffelees, the famous Jellicle conjurer. You caused me a lot of grief two years ago."

Unable to deny this, but guessing that agreeing would be a bad idea, Quaxo remained silent.

Macavity gave a low chuckle, and the sound sent shivers down Quaxo's spine. "Don't look so nervous. You bested me once. I underestimated your power, I admit that. As one conjurer to another, I can respect a brilliant piece of magic. So I ask you again: What's your name?"

"Still Mistoffelees."

Finally, anger sparked in Macavity's eyes. "I can play this game as long as you like, boy, but it's going to start getting very painful. Your _everyday_ name." He was no longer asking.

"Hey, boss?" said one of the henchcats nervously. Macavity glanced at him, irritated, but he didn't incinerate him, which the henchcat took as permission to continue. "There was a little female what called him Quaxo…"

Macavity nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you, Tonto. Quaxo…" he mused. "I thought as much." Seemingly as an afterthought, he asked the henchcat, "That queen. Would you know her if you saw her again?"

"Sure, boss."

"Good. You'll be rewarded. Go and fetch her."

After the henchcat had disappeared, there was another long pause. Finally, Macavity turned back to Quaxo. "You know," he said in a tone that was petrifying because it was so normal, "I almost didn't recognize you. You really have grown since you were…kidnapped."

It took all of Quaxo's self-control not to hiss at the term.

"Your powers are quite impressive," Macavity continued conversationally. "Of course, you've had no proper training. That will soon change." A forbidding smile spread across his face as he glanced at something behind his son. "But for now, perhaps we should greet our guest."

…

When he turned and saw Jemima at the other end of the throne room, Quaxo's first instinct was, as it had always been, to rush to her side. It hurt him to remain where he was, but the last thing he wanted to do was demonstrate in front of Macavity just how much the young queen meant to him; he was forced to satisfy himself with nothing but a forepaw extended in support. It was eerie watching Jemima pad soundlessly down the long hall, and seeing her so exposed before Macavity's unblinking gaze felt _wrong_, but at least he didn't seem about to attack. He was simply studying her movements.

Finally, Jemima's slim paw slipped into Quaxo's. He drew her close just long enough to hug her gently with an arm around her waist, brushing a kiss onto her temple before stepping back to a more formal distance and facing Macavity.

The ginger tom continued observing them for a few more moments. Then, rising and slipping off the tire, he waved a paw at Quaxo, motioning him away. When the younger cat hesitated, Macavity snapped his fingers and Quaxo was thrown backwards as if shoved by an invisible force.

Macavity walked slowly around Jemima, keeping a reasonable distance, looking her over critically. She fixed her eyes on the rapidly setting moon, praying that she would pass whatever inspection Macavity was performing.

After what felt like hours, Macavity finally spoke. "You're Demeter's daughter." It wasn't a question, and Jemima didn't respond.

"No wonder you're so stunted," he continued in disgust. "That's what happens when you promote _inbreeding!"_ On the last word, an invisible ball of energy struck Jemima violently between the shoulder blades, sending her sprawling.

Curling instinctively into a ball to make herself a smaller target, Jemima gasped, "What are you _talking _about?"

Jerking his head at Quaxo, dangerous-looking sparks flashing between his claws, Macavity growled, "Are you his mate or aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Jemima said, picking herself up slowly. "But we're not related."

"Oh, really?" sneered Macavity. "So tell me, girl, who was your father?"

"Munkustrap, of course."

Macavity smirked. "Is that what Demeter told you?"

Jemima glanced nervously at Quaxo. "She didn't have to tell me anything."

Quaxo stepped forward. "This is ridiculous," he said in his usual demure way. "My mother was Quickskittle Jones; don't tell me she wasn't, we're practically identical. She died giving birth to Victoria or she'd be here to tell you. And everyone in the Junkyard knows Munkustrap is Jemima's father."

Macavity rounded heatedly on his son, who for a moment feared he'd gone too far, but the crime lord stopped himself, turning slowly back to Jemima. "Perhaps I'll tell you a secret, little queen," he said in a low, taunting voice. "Something that may make you think a bit differently about your mate and the kits you're carrying. When Demeter left me, she was pregnant." He wiggled his fingers, drawing attention to the magical sparks playing between them. "And I happen to know that the kit was a young queen…and that she was born right here, in the Junkyard, to Munkustrap's mate."

If Macavity had intended this declaration to spawn horror or disbelief, he failed miserably. The look on Jemima's face was one of profound relief. "It must have been a very long pregnancy," she said evenly, "because I was born a full year after she joined the tribe."

For possibly the first time in his life, the Napoleon of Crime was utterly dumbstruck.

"I think Munkustrap was my father," Jemima prompted.

Recovering himself, Macavity slapped her across the face. "If the blood of weaklings flows in your veins, girl, it's nothing to be proud of." Ignoring the look of outraged fury on Jemima's face, he continued, "And what happened to the kit? My _real _daughter," he spat, as if not being Macavity's daughter would be the worst thing Jemima had ever heard in her life.

"I don't know," she lied, Electra's face flashing through her mind. "You'd have to ask my mother."

She immediately wished she could take the words back. A wicked smile spread across Macavity's face.

"You know, my dear," he said, waving Jemima toward Quaxo in a clear dismissal, "I rather think I shall."

…

Jemima's arrival in the throne room had been so silent that Quaxo hadn't even noticed it. Demeter's was anything but.

She could be heard from a considerable distance, yelling profanities that, judging by the look on Jemima's face, would scar her youngest daughter for life. The filthy curses (dear Bast, where had Demeter _learned_ this stuff? Quaxo wondered) were occasionally interspersed with the sound of breaking glass and yowls of tom-cat pain.

"Well," Jemima whispered to Quaxo with a sad attempt at humor, "They've got the right queen."

At that moment, a large group of henchcats appeared at the end of the hall. The guard consisted of five cats, two Pekes, a Pollicle, and a rat who was currently being held in a chokehold by an unbelievably ticked-off Demeter. Seeing his gang struggling to keep the golden queen under control, Macavity chuckled before standing and exploding one of the boxes to get their attention. Demeter froze and hissed, releasing her captive, but the sound was more one of fear than aggression.

"That will do," Macavity said. Indicating the charred remains of the cardboard box, he told his henchmen, "Replace that and return to your posts." Looking only too eager to put distance between themselves and their boss' psychotic ex-girlfriend, the henchcats hurried off.

"Demeter," said Macavity calmly, as if this were a perfectly normal meeting. "As beautiful as ever. How are you?" She responded with a loud hiss of fury and pain, and Jemima was shocked to see tears in her mother's eyes. But after all, it wasn't really so shocking. Demeter had lived in constant fear of this fate for years; only Munkustrap had kept her sane. And Munkustrap was dead.

Macavity seemed to share Jemima's train of thought. "Ah, yes. I did hear about your…loss. But really, all that's over now, and all in all you'll find you're better off without him."

This careless dismissal of Munkustrap's death was too much for Demeter's volatile temper. With a scream of rage, she launched herself at Macavity, flying for his throat.

He didn't even flinch. Demeter slammed into an invisible wall before she got anywhere near him, crumpling to the ground in a painful heap.

"Now, Demeter," Macavity began. On the surface, his voice was still light and casual, but there was a dark warning underneath. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together again." Demeter flinched. "Are you sure you want to start things off on this note?"

The golden queen gave a wild, feral hiss. "I'll never go back to that life. Never!" she cried. 'I'll die first. I'll kill myself. I-"

Macavity raised an eyebrow. "And leave Bombalurina to keep me company all alone?"

True despair washed over Demeter's features, and first one tear, then another coursed down her face as she lowered her head, shrinking back.

"Very good," purred Macavity. "Now, it may interest you to know, my dear, that I only had you brought here to ask you a question. I would suggest you answer truthfully. You know perfectly well what will happen if you lie, don't you? Or will I have to refresh your memory?" The question was asked in a friendly, upbeat tone that was completely incongruous to what he was implying.

"What do you want to know?" Demeter whispered.

Macavity smiled. "When you left me all those years ago, you were pregnant." He paused, as if waiting for her to deny it. When she didn't, he asked, "Where is the kit?"

Demeter lifted her head, glaring bloody murder. "I'm not telling you where she is until you tell me what you want with her."

Macavity stood slowly, all pretense of affability gone. "_What_," he asked, "did you just say? Did you just say 'no' to me, Demeter?"

"I'm not telling you her name," Demeter repeated in little more than a whisper.

Jemima gave a barely audible whimper of fear and dug her claws into Quaxo's arm. He winced, but put his other arm around her, ready to comfort or restrain her, whichever became necessary.

Macavity paid the two no mind. Silent and deadly, he leaped at Demeter and slashed her shoulder open. It wasn't a normal scratch, a quick blow merely intended to indicate irritation or anger. This was a calculated strike. His claws went in deeper than was necessary, causing a wide gash, twisting in a queer motion obviously specifically intended to cause agony. Demeter screamed, and Macavity drew back and raised his paw, prepared for another attack.

"What's her name?" he asked in a deadly voice.

For several heartbeats, Demeter was silent, staring up into his eyes with a single-minded hatred, but then she seemed to fade, drooping her head. After a time and sounding as if her heart was breaking, she whispered, "Mistoffelees—"

With an enraged roar, Macavity flew at her, attacking again. This time he didn't stop at one strike. He slashed at her shoulders, her stomach, her face, reducing her to desperate pleading before he finally pulled back. "Don't lie to me, Demeter," he said threateningly. "I know perfectly well that tom's not yours. You're less intelligent than I thought if you've forgotten your lessons so quickly. Do I have to teach you again?" He twitched his claws, and Demeter cringed back. "I would hate to have to _reeducate_ you in front of your daughter. Perhaps she'd like to take part in the lessons as well-"

"_No!_"

Macavity looked vastly amused by Demeter's panicked cry. "Well, my dear," he purred, "That's entirely up to you."

Demeter looked toward Quaxo again. "_Mistoffelees,"_ she murmured again. This time, Macavity seemed to realize that she was talking to the conjurer, and he let her speak. "Go and find Electra, will you? Please."

Quaxo nodded. Before turning to leave, however, he extended a single loving paw towards the cowering queen, a tiny gesture of support. A vulnerable spark of hope seemed to flicker in Demeter's eyes as she slowly stretched out her own paw to meet his.

Macavity looked at his son and growled; a low, throaty snarl. It was a quiet sound, pitched below his normal voice, but the threat was still clear. Slowly, shrinking back from his father, Quaxo retracted his paw and pulled it to his chest. He got to his feet and began to creep away down the hall, Jemima tucked nervously behind him. Macavity never looked away from the young couple, and they found themselves walking faster and faster, trying hard not to do anything that might set him off, both determined that the moment they got around the corner they would run all the way back to the gathering place.

The last thing they heard before they broke into a sprint was Demeter crying out in pain.


	3. Chapter 3

**[A/N] This is a chapter where I changed a LOT. More details, and a new pairing begins to emerge. (I'd have to search, but I think I may be the first one to do this pairing…)**

**Chapter Three**

"Electra?"

"Mmph."

"Electra. Wake up."

"Go away," Electra mumbled. "I don't like onions."

"_Electra!_"

Just as Jemima had, Electra jerked wildly awake, lashing out instinctively. Jemima dodged her claws with a neat skipping movement, leaned down, and flicked Electra's ear.

The dark calico frowned at looked up. Upon seeing her half-siblings, her expression quickly changed from confusion and irritation to one of resignation, as if their mere presence had confirmed something unpleasant. Without getting up, she whispered, "Our dad wants to see me then, Misto?"

Frowning slightly, Quaxo shook his head. "Our _sire_ wants to see you." He and Electra shared a long look, and something passed between them. With a peculiar look in her eyes—something in the family of pride and defiance, but not quite either one—Electra nodded and got to her feet.

"We'd better get going, then," she said. Before they could leave, however, she placed a paw on Jemima's foreleg. "Where's Demeter?" she asked.

"Alive." Jemima couldn't bring herself to say anything more, but Electra sighed as she studied her face.

"That bad, huh?" Jemima nodded mutely. "Right," said Electra with a new urgency. "We need to go. _Now_. We can't leave her alone with that-"

Glancing at the nearby henchcats, Quaxo stomped on Electra's paw, hard.

"-Ow! That….tom," she finished, glaring at her half-brother.

"You're right," Jemima said uneasily. "We should go."

Quaxo turned to his mate, seeming to steel himself. "Jem," he said, "I want you to stay here." Seeing her about to argue, he said hastily, "What good will it do? It won't help anything to have you in danger. You heard Macavity, Jemima, he'll hurt you. I don't want you around him unless you have to be. Besides," he added, placing a gentle paw on her abdomen, where their kits were beginning to stir, "it's not just you I'm worried about."

Jemima looked shocked that he would even consider making the request. "No," she whispered. Then, more forcefully, "No! I'm staying with you, I have to!" She looked at Electra, eyes wild, as if to say _Help me!_

Her half-sister stepped forward. When she spoke, her tone surprised Jemima. It wasn't the rough yowl she was used to, but a low, earnest plea. "You think it'll do her any good to sit around here and worry? We're all going out of our minds. Vic's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Skimble's in withdrawal because the train just left without him, Jelly's in shock, Bomba's frantic… and until you two showed up, we didn't even know whether you were alive! Jemima's a lot more likely to make herself sick here than anywhere else. Besides, Quaxo," she said, and the familiar, slightly angry edge was back in her voice, "Whether you like it or not, that's our mother in there."

"We're wasting time," Jemima said determinedly.

Quaxo wavered, hideous doubt flickering in his eyes. His protective instinct told him to keep his mate as far away from Macavity as possible…but there was Jemima, determined to stay with him, and if truth be told he desperately wanted the little queen by his side.

"All right," he said finally. "Let's go."

…

They were an anxious group as they picked their way back through the Junkyard. As much as the two queens wanted to find their mother, it was difficult to intentionally hasten into Macavity's clutches, and at any rate, the last thing they wanted was to look like they were running away. It was several minutes before Electra broke the tense silence.

"So," she said uncomfortably, putting an awkward arm around Jemima's shoulders. "You're pregnant?"

Jemima looked up, blinking in surprise. It seemed like the last thing Electra would ever ask. "Yes," she said slowly.

Electra nodded, looking more and more uneasy. "Do you…um…do you know the size of the litter yet?"

"No," Jemima answered, mystified. "Electra, what in the name of Bast's gotten into you?"

The dark calico grimaced. "Am I that bad at this?"

"Yes," said Quaxo simply, flashing a quick smile at his half-sister.

"Oh, shut up," she shot back. Looking back at Jemima, the embarrassed look came back onto her face. "Look, Jem," she said carefully. "I'm just…I'm sorry." The last words came out as barely more than a whisper.

Now Jemima was beginning to get genuinely worried. "Electra, what's wrong?"

Electra made a face. "It's just…I was never around when you were growing up. I moved out when you were just a few months old, and I barely knew you. It wasn't your fault, Jem, I just…I guess I never really felt like I belonged there. I could have stayed at home with Mom and Dad…"at the questioning look Jemima gave her, she said softly, "We may not be related, but Munkustrap's always been my father." Jemima smiled and nodded acceptingly. "Like I said…I could have stayed home, but I decided to live in the nursery until I grew up. I'm sorry that…I never really got to know you. You're my sister. I should have been around more often."

Jemima blinked, utterly bemused. Not only was this the longest statement she had ever heard Electra make, the queen who prided herself on being a true alley-cat was standing there talking about _feelings,_ which Jemima felt sure merited something along the lines of an apocalypse. She thought that maybe that was why Electra was saying them; they might all be dead by the morning.

Quaxo had also reached this conclusion. Smirking slightly, he said, "I don't think he's going to kill you, 'Lectra. I think he just wants to know what you look like so he can trace his bloodline if you ever have kits. He thinks about bloodlines a lot. I remember that about him."

Electra gagged. "_Kits_? No, thank you. I'll leave the breeding to you two lovebirds."

Jemima cuffed her shoulder, and Electra snickered. The laugh faded quickly as they approached the throne room, but as the three approached Macavity's tire, it was with far more confidence than they had before. She may not have been the best fun at parties, but sometimes Electra was just a cool cat to have around.

…

Electra's audience with Macavity was brief. He seemed quite pleased with her rebel attitude and loner personality, saying that she was much like himself. Quaxo had wisely thought to put a silencing spell on his half-sister at that moment, so that Macavity, who had been facing the opposite direction, didn't notice the furious curses his daughter was flinging at him. Demeter, who was curled into a wounded ball at the foot of the tire, looking like she wanted to disappear, had signed to Electra to shut up, and, reluctantly, she had. When Macavity turned back around, he found her standing in the exact same position she had been when he looked away, and he had dismissed her without further incident.

Thus began a long line of Jellicles being brought before Macavity. He seemed to want to meet every survivor, cataloguing their faces and temperaments for future reference. He seemed utterly unimpressed by Victoria, which took Quaxo and Jemima by surprise; they would later reason that she was simply too much of a Jellicle. Her clearly broken heart, as well, was viewed as a weakness.

Pouncival, Alonzo, Exotica, Jenny, Asparagus the younger (thank Heaviside Gus was in…well, Heaviside); Jelly, Skimble, Admetus: they all received the same questions and the same information. Macavity informed them of the new laws and restrictions. Skimble, he said, could still accompany the mail train and was still allowed to bring back stray kittens as he always had; it would help keep the Junkyard gene pool healthy, after all. However, he was to be escorted to and from the station by a guard. The curfew that had applied to kittens now applied to all Jellicles, with the addition of a beating for anyone out after dark without permission, which had obviously never been a punishment for a wandering kit. Nobody except Macavity's gang could leave the Junkyard, period. Most of the meetings went without incident.

And some audiences would haunt Jemima's dreams. Some of them, admittedly, were actually surprising examples of mercy; Macavity restored Cassandra's left eye (though she would always be blind on that side); he set and bound Tumblebrutus' broken leg with a touch. But the others…it would be years before she stopped hearing Rumpleteazer's neck snapping like a wet twig, Mungojerrie's heartbroken howl when he was called into the throne room and saw his sister's lifeless body at Macavity's feet. Jemima had always sworn that Bombalurina was impossible to break, and the vicious barbs the scarlet queen exchanged with Macavity had supported that theory. But her horrible scream as she was held back by three henchcats twice her size while the Rum Tum Tugger disappeared under a pile of ripping Pekes was something that no one could ever forget, and for the first time in her life, Jemima watched Demeter comforting Bomba. It was a scene that went against all laws of nature, because Demeter had never been the one who was whole, Bomba had never been broken before…

And when even Bombalurina was broken down, when Demeter was trying to hold her together with the strength she simply didn't have, when Victoria was too numb to dance and Electra was so scared she was talking about _emotions_, there could be no hope for anyone, because the world was crashing down around them and nothing they did could stop it.

…

And yet, somehow, the world kept spinning. All the old dens had been destroyed, but that was just as well; they held too many memories. The new sleeping arrangements were, if truth be told, actually more comfortable. In struggling to hold their lives together, the Jellicles went all-out in building new dens.

Quaxo was expected, as Macavity's oldest son, to learn at his father's side. As disgusted by this idea as he was, refusing would have meant certain death, not only for him, but likely for his unborn children as well. And so he did what was expected of him. This proved to be not nearly as repulsive a requirement as he had feared; it consisted of merely expanding his magical abilities, and he confessed once to Jemima, in the warmth of their new den, that at times he truly enjoyed it. Tantomile and Coricopat had done their best to educate him in the ways of energy, but they were mystics, not conjurers. He had better control over his powers now, and he was learning how to perform proper spells, which allowed him to do complicated magic more easily. He also whispered to her that he was breaking the rules. Macavity very rarely spent any time with Quaxo, for which he was grateful, and it meant that he was left alone with all manner of magical items. He never studied the dark, ominous tomes he was supposed to troll through—evil volumes that told of hypnotism, ways to control others' will, to torture and force information from your enemies using only your mind—but rather the older ones, the histories, the volumes that reminded him of the lessons he had once taken from the mystic twins. Jemima had smiled, but there was worry in her eyes.

There was worry in everyone's eyes these days; everyone, that is, who was still functioning normally. Jenny had shown remarkable strength of character; she viewed the new regime as merely an irritating inconvenience, insisting there were far more important things to worry about right now; things like little ones who needed caring for and certain heartbroken individuals who needed still more caring for and soon-to-be-mothers who needed caring for because they would soon be having little ones, who would then need caring for.

Jemima had never before realized just how much she loved Jenny.

The "heartbroken individuals" were presumably Jerrie, Demeter and Victoria. Bomba had rallied quickly, as was her way. She was not the queen she had been; Jemima thought that this colder, soft-spoken, slightly more cynical Bomba was exactly the way she had been before, the last time she was subjected to Macavity's tyranny. Mungojerrie hadn't spoken a word since his sister's death; not to anyone but Electra. Jemima's half-sister had been close to the cockney queen; closer, perhaps, than anyone else. She had actually moved into Jerrie's den to keep an eye on him. When Jemima remarked on this one afternoon, Electra blushed furiously, swatted her, and insisted it was just to make sure he didn't hurt himself, it had been Jenny's idea anyway, she and Jerrie were just friends, and stop laughing!

Demeter was…shattered. Jemima never saw her; she was confined to Macavity's den at all times. But Bombalurina, while required to return to the den at a moment's notice, was still free to roam. It clearly caused her an almost physical pain to talk about her sister's condition, but she dutifully gave Jenny a daily report, and the Gumbie cat would cluck her tongue sympathetically and give Bomba some herb or snack or delicacy she had found and tell her to pass it on to Demeter, and Macavity allowed it to happen. Demeter's fate spread fear, and it did good for the Jellicles to be afraid of him. Besides, the little presents and messages kept Demeter from completely losing her will to live.

Bombalurina was only allowed to talk about Demeter to Jenny; this was an unspoken law, and nobody wanted to find out what would happen if she ever discussed her with someone else. But if Jemima was visiting Jenny every day around the time Bombalurina was due—because she was pregnant, of course—what of it? And if Quaxo was there as well—to support his mate, naturally—and was willing to pull the herbs Jenny wanted out of thin air, why should that matter? In this way, messages of love and support, updates on Jemima's pregnancy, wishes that Demeter could be there for the birth, could be passed between mother and daughter. Electra usually managed to find some excuse to be in Jenny's den at the same time, and while she was taciturn and detached, she seemed comforted whenever Demeter sent her a message, and Jemima smiled, knowing full well that under her tough demeanor Electra was as vulnerable as anyone else.

Victoria was healing, albeit slowly. She spent a lot of time around Jellylorum, finding in the elderly queen a kindred spirit. Gus had gone to Heaviside the year before Etcetera, and while Jelly was proud of her family, she was left completely alone. With Victoria's mother long-gone, no father worth the name, and her mate dead, they drew together, and at times Victoria would smile or perform a few small steps for Jemima, and in their hearts the Jellicles felt a small flower of hope blooming. They would look at each other and smile slightly, and think to themselves, _we may survive this yet._


	4. Chapter 4

**[A/N] Not much changed here; all I added was that Tumble is Skimble's eldest son. **

**Chapter Four**

It was one of those things Skimbleshanks knew he really shouldn't enjoy.

Karma would no doubt come back and bite him, he thought regretfully, especially now that Jenny was pregnant herself (a quiver of delight went through him at the thought). He knew he couldn't have been much better when Tumblebrutus was born years ago, as well. Still. Expectant fathers were highly amusing.

Over the years, Skimble had become familiar with all sorts of pre-paternal anxiety. Toms tended to react in three ways: manic pacing, silent and tense, and talking to themselves. Plato had, rather surprisingly, fallen into the muttering-into-thin-air category when Victoria had been in labor two years before. Their poor kit had been stillborn; it was a dark time for the tribe. Munkustrap, on the other hand, had quite literally worn a path in the floor of the den waiting for Demeter to give birth to Electra, then to Jemima a year later.

Quaxo was the silent-and-tense sort. The little tom had his claws clamped into the throw pillow, staring at a blank wall as if it held the secret to all the mysteries of the universe. His muscles were clenched so tightly Skimble was fairly certain they would have to pry him off the pillow with a crowbar. The railway cat was concerned for Jemima himself, but when your mate was Jennyanydots, you were used to this kind of thing. The young queen was in good paws.

Skimble stretched, yawning. Their new den was a very pleasant place, an old cardboard box with an umbrella over the top to keep out water. Actually, it was just the top of the umbrella; the handle had somehow come detached, causing the top to be thrown away. It made for a wonderful roof. A worn fleece blanket served as a carpet inside the den. There was the throw pillow for visitors, and—Skimble yawned again—this very nice sweater for a bed. The only sounds in the den were the toms' breathing, an occasional snapping thread from the throw pillow as Misto's claws dug into it, and the slow, rhythmic ticking of Skimble's pocket watch. It was soft, gentle, hypnotic, and he had been up all night supervising the mail train…

"Is it normal for a delivery to take this long?"

Skimble jumped, banging his head on the wall. "Ow! Well, lad," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "That does depend…"

"On?"

"Oh, the age of the mother, the number of kits…and really, laddie, it's not been all that long." He checked his pocket watch. "No, not long at all." Skimble winked. "The magical Mr. Mistoffelees wouldn't be feeling a wee bit nervous now, would he?"

Quaxo kneaded the pillow anxiously. "She's so tiny, Skimble."

Skimbleshanks smiled affectionately. "True enough, lad. But she's young and she's strong and in good hands. She'll be fine."

At that moment, a smiling Jennyanydots appeared at the mouth of the den. Quaxo leaped to his feet, and she answered his question before he had a chance to ask it. "She's doing just fine. You can come in now, dear." He gulped and crept over to the opening, which led into an old refrigerator box that served as a hospital of sorts. As he drew abreast of the Gumbie cat, she clucked her tongue and straightened his fur. "Congratulations, dear," she said. "You're the lucky father of two precious youngsters."

"_Three_, Jenny." Jemima's voice was exhausted, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

Jenny looked troubled. "Oh…yes, three, dear!" she called over her shoulder. Turning back to Quaxo, she smiled again and said, "You go right in and see her. I'll be just in here if you need me."

Quivering with nervous excitement, Quaxo padded into the birthing den.

"Jemima?" he called softly. He could see her at the end of the box, curled up in a scrunched-up sweater similar to the one in Skimbleshanks' den.

She smiled softly. "Last I checked. Do you want to meet your kits?"

"How…how many are there?" he asked breathlessly, padding up to her.

"See for yourself," she whispered, licking his nose lightly.

Curled up at Jemima's side were three very small balls of damp fur. Two of the balls were healthy newborn kits. The first had the beginnings of a dark calico pattern; the second looked like it would grow into a tuxedo cat like its father. The third, however, which was mostly white with delicate calico patches on its head and rump, was barely half the size of its siblings, thin and fragile-looking.

"The white one's the queen," Jemima said. Her voice gave nothing away.

"She's…" Quaxo swallowed, and Jemima's eyes tightened. He knew what she was thinking; she expected him to say _a runt._ But that was the furthest thing from his mind right now. "She's…they're beautiful, Jem."

Jemima's eyes flooded with tears, and she rested her head on Quaxo's shoulders, purring madly. He realized that he was purring, too; the steady thrumming was simply natural in a situation like this. "That's what I said," Jemima whispered. "I told Jenny not to count that queen out. I said she'd end up stronger than her brothers, just wait."

"She will be," Quaxo whispered back. "I know it." Jemima smiled tiredly into his shoulder.

For a long time, they stayed that way, leaning into each other with their newborn kits asleep between them. Suddenly, Jemima spoke. "Ouch! Don't bite," she reprimanded the bigger calico. "I'm not going anywhere." Quaxo laughed, and the silent spell was over. "So what should we call them?" Jemima asked.

Quaxo looked scared at the sudden hurdle. "Um."

Jemima tried and failed not to grin. "If it helps, Misto, there are two toms and a queen. We'll start with the oldest, all right?"

Quaxo nodded gratefully. "Which one's the oldest?"

At that moment, they heard a scuffle and a shout just outside the den. Eyes focusing automatically on the mouth of the den, Jemima flicked her tail nervously over her newborns while Quaxo got to his feet and hurried over to the entrance. "Jenny?" he asked. "What's going on?"

Jenny waved him back into the birthing den. "Don't worry, my dears, I'll take care of it…" Quaxo looked back at his mate and shrugged as Jenny hurried away.

They heard the Gumbie cat talking to someone outside, but couldn't tell what she was saying. Her voice was soon joined by the rough growl of a Peke, then by a Jellicle voice, pitched lower than the others. Jenny gave a cry of surprise, and before Jemima and Quaxo had time to do more than exchange puzzled glances, she had bustled in and said excitedly, "You have a visitor, dear!"

"Who…" Jemima's voice trailed off in shock as a familiar face peered around Jenny. "_Demeter?"_

The golden queen smiled and rushed to her daughter's side, pulling her into a tearful hug. "Congratulations," she whispered. "I'm so proud of you, Jemima." Then, touching Quaxo's paw with her own, she added, "And congratulations to you as well." Giving an apologetic smile, she said, "She was right about you all along, I see that now. I've never been so glad she didn't listen to me. It's good she has a tom like you."

Quaxo bowed his head politely. "Don't mention it."

Jemima was still staring at her mother. "Mom," she said shakily. "How…don't take this the wrong way, but what are you _doing_ here?"

Something flickered in Demeter's eyes. "Bomba convinced Macavity to let me come," she said, in a voice which stated quite clearly that she did not want to talk about what her sister had done to get Macavity to agree to this.

"We're glad you could make it," Quaxo said warmly.

"So am I," said Demeter, pulling herself together. Gazing lovingly at the kits, she asked, "Are you going to introduce me?"

Jemima looked up at Quaxo. "We were just trying to think of a name for this little biter," she said, pushing the calico tom gently. "I'm not a steak, you know."

Quaxo looked down at his eldest son, thinking. "We could name him after your father," he suggested quietly.

"Munkustrap?" Jemima said the word slowly, as if tasting it. "It's a good name…" she looked at Demeter questioningly.

The golden queen gave a sad sigh. "Why make his life harder than it has to be?" she asked.

"I guess that's true," Jemima admitted.

Quaxo spoke up again. "If not Munkustrap, what about something like…Montecristo? Monty for everyday. We would know who he was named for."

"Monty," Jemima mused. "I like it. 'Stop biting me, Monty'," she said to test it out. "That works well. Now for his brother."

This proved to be harder. A few names—things like George and Jonathan—were suggested and subsequently rejected. It was Jemima who finally brightened and said, "Misto, he looks just like you; what about…Presto!"

They all laughed, but Demeter said it was actually a very good name, and when Quaxo suggested the Jellicle name of Dominocus, it was settled.

"Now for the queen," Jemima said, looking down at her weak young daughter. "Poor thing…she's a fighter, though…" This brought to mind names like Bellatrix, Dagger, Draca, and Minerva, none of which sounded quite right. Then Demeter sat up.

"I had a thought," she said. "An old human story Tantomile once told me…I'm not sure if I remember the whole thing. But there was an evil king who killed anyone who opposed him in horrible ways. The country eventually banded together and threw him out, and they became a more powerful tribe…no…nation, that's what Tantomile said. A more powerful nation than ever before. The country was called Etruria."

"Etruria," Jemima said dreamily, gazing down at the tiny kitten. Suddenly Demeter jerked, as if struck by a static shock. Jemima didn't notice. She looked up at Quaxo, who nodded.

"It's perfect," they said together.

"Lovely indeed," said the last voice any of them wanted to hear.

…

"Macavity," Demeter breathed, shrinking into a corner. Quaxo got warily to his feet, standing in front of his mate. Jemima looked fearfully up at Macavity, and then glanced down at her kits. A moment too late, she flicked her tail and tried to hide Etruria from sight.

Macavity bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. "Why, hello, Jemima. I heard about your…twins."

"Triplets," she corrected fiercely.

"I don't see three kittens," Macavity said coldly. "I see two kittens and a runt." Jemima gave a low hiss at the term. Ignoring this completely, Macavity stepped forward, shoving Quaxo roughly out of the way. Jemima curled up, hissing in earnest now, shielding her newborns from sight.

"Don't even think about it," she growled.

"I rather think I'm entitled to meet my grandchildren," Macavity replied frostily.

Quaxo caught Jemima' eye, mouthing something. _Bloodlines, _he said. Jemima remembered what he had said to Electra: _I don't think he's going to kill you…he thinks about bloodlines a lot._

Very slowly, feeling the wrongness of the action with every inch of her kittens she uncovered, Jemima unfurled herself and let Macavity look at the litter.

She knew she had made a mistake when he reached out and hooked one long claw around Etruria's neck.

With a sudden yowl of fury, Jemima swatted his paw away, teeth bared. Macavity responded by raising his other paw in the air. Jemima stiffened and felt her limbs moving against her will, forcing her to expose Etruria to the open air. She fought with every ounce of strength she could find in herself, but with seemingly no effect. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quaxo with a pained look on his face, as if he too was struggling against an unseen force.

She couldn't even close her eyes as Macavity drove his claw into Etruria's unprotected…

…throat?

Jemima was very confused. Just as Macavity had been swiping at the kitten's jugular, he had suddenly pulled back as if wounded. Frowning, he tried again, and this time Jemima saw what had stopped him. The instant his claw made contact with Etruria's skin, a deep purple spark had shocked him back. Macavity shot a murderous look at Quaxo. Apparently he also removed he immobilization spell from the tom, because Quaxo shook his head and said, "My magic is gold or blue."

Growling, Macavity tried multiple times to touch the miniscule queen. Each time, the purple magic would prevent him from making contact with her skin. Slowly, the incredible truth began to dawn on all of them.

"Everlasting cat!" exclaimed Jennyanydots from the entrance to the den. "You were right about that one."

"Impossible," Macavity muttered, looking grudgingly impressed.

_Thank Bast,_ Demeter mouthed behind Macavity's back.

"She's a conjurer," said Quaxo, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at his daughter and his mate.

Jemima, however, had only one thing to say. She looked up at Macavity, victory in her eyes.

"Three," she said triumphantly.


	5. Chapter 5

**[A/N] And Electra/Jerrie develops further…XD I don't know why these two work. I actually have no excuse for that. I was just editing and I thought "…you know, under these circumstances…they would work!" Oh; and as for Electra and Teazer being "close", I just noticed that they seem to sort of hang out during the Ball…a tiny bit. Mostly I figured it was her personality. I thought they'd get along. *shrugs* Anyway, read on, my friends.**

**Chapter Five**

Jemima was breaking curfew.

This was something she had been doing since she was roughly nine months old, but now it was a very serious offense. She knew it was irresponsible, as well; her kittens needed her. They had grown up so beautifully over the past ten months, especially Etruria. Jemima had been right; she had grown to be just as healthy and strong as her brothers, and twice as talented a troublemaker. Electra fawned over the three of them and taught them all of her favorite pranks whenever her sister wasn't there to stop her, and Victoria was teaching Monty how to dance; he showed a remarkable aptitude for it. They were visiting Skimbleshanks tonight; she would be forever grateful for his fondness for kittens. Still, this was a dangerous thing to do.

But it was the Jellicle Moon tonight, and she simply couldn't resist.

She was tucked in a hidden alcove, humming to herself, when a strong hand covered her mouth and dragged her behind a pile of tires. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the dark paw.

"Shh!" whispered a female voice. "Quiet, Sillabub!"

Jemima's eyes widened. Quite apart from the fact that she recognized that voice, there were only two cats in the world that referred to her by her Jellicle name. She tore the paw from her mouth. _"Tantomile?"_

"Hush," breathed the mystic. "Yes, it's us."

Jemima couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face at the sight of her old friends. "What are you doing here? We thought you escaped!"

"We did escape," Coricopat said, sitting down beside his sister. "We've come back."

Jemima blinked rapidly. "_Why_?"

Tantomile smiled. "To say goodbye," she said simply.

Jemima stared at her. "You're risking your lives…to say goodbye."

"Of course," said Coricopat.

"To me."

"Naturally," said Tantomile.

Jemima stared some more. "_Why?"_

The mystic twins turned their heads and looked at each other, exchanging a slow smile before turning back to Jemima.

"Sillabub," said Tanomile reproachfully. "You're our friend."

"We couldn't leave without saying goodbye," said Coricopat.

"We knew we would find you here," added Tantomile.

"This is the last time you'll see us…"

"…so we wanted to thank you."

They blinked in leisurely unison, as if that made perfect sense. Trying to insert some sanity into the situation, Jemima asked, "How did you get past the guards without being seen?"

Mysterious smiles were her only answer.

"All right…so if you're leaving, where are you going?"

"Tanto," said Coricopat softly, "She doesn't understand."

Tantomile flicked her ears in sympathy, curling her tail comfortably around her paws. "It's the Jellicle Moon tonight," she said by way of explanation.

Coricopat covered his sister's paw with his own. "We're going home," he said. Seeing that she didn't understand, he told her gently, "To the Heaviside Layer, Sillabub. We're going home tonight."

"What?" Jemima yelped.

"We can sense it," said Tantomile.

"The Everlasting Cat is calling us," Coricopat added.

"She has been for weeks. We just didn't know what she was saying."

"But we understand her now."

Seeing the shock on Jemima's face, Tantomile reached out and placed a paw on her cheek. "Don't mourn us, Sillabub," she murmured. "It's our time. Oh, Cori, she doesn't understand."

"We're mystics," Coricopat told Jemima. "In this life, we're servants of the Everlasting Cat. But we've done our job for Her in this life…and now She's calling us home."

Jemima gave a tiny nod. "We'll miss you," she said weakly.

The twins graced their friend with a fond smile. "Oh, Sillabub," said Tantomile. "It's not such a terrible separation, after all."

"We'll be watching over you," Coricopat assured her.

"And your little ones."

"We'll be back soon enough…"

"…and someday…"

"…when your time comes…"

"…We'll see you again," they finished together. Suddenly, Tantomile looked over her shoulder as if someone had called her name. She smiled and turned back to Jemima. "But for now," she said, "You should go to Jennyanydots' den. Bring Electra, as well. Demeter's kitten is being born."

"It's going to be a tom," Coricopat said.

"A very special tom," Tantomile agreed.

This was all a bit much to take in at one time, but before Jemima had a chance to ask any of her questions, the mystics had vanished into the night without so much as a whisper, and were it not for the ghost of their touch on her cheek she couldn't have sworn that they had ever been there at all.

…

Skimbleshanks loved kittens.

He always had. They were cute, of course, but it was more than that. He thought it might be because kittens shared his passion for life.

The four kits currently in the process of trying to destroy his living room certainly had a passion for life. In fact, they could do with a little less of it. That was another thing Skimbleshanks loved about kittens: the sheer chaos. After making sure everything worked like clockwork on the mail train, it did him good to let a bit of complete anarchy into his life; and with a growing son and his three best friends, he had plenty of that.

He lifted his tail absently as two kits rolled under it. Monty and Skimbleshanks' son Skipper had been inseparable since Skipper's birth. Presto, who was currently attempting to disentangle himself from a ball of yarn while his sister rolled on the ground laughing at him, was much quieter and less of a troublemaker. Etruria was almost as intuitive a mischief-maker as her father was, and the whole tribe had been thrilled to discover that she had inherited her mother's beautiful voice.

"Monty," Skimble said, snapping out of his reverie, "Don't bite your brother's tail!"

"Mmky, mmcle Skmmblmm!" called Monty around a mouthful of Presto's tail, which was Montecristo for "Okay, uncle Skimble!"

Suddenly, Jemima and Electra appeared in the entrance to the den. Barely acknowledging the cries of welcome from the kittens (and ignoring Monty's "Aaw, Mom's here!") they asked Skimble urgently, "How is she?"

Skimble waved them through to the hospital den. "She's still in labor, lassie, but you go on. Jenny will let you in." Jenny's birthing policy was very simple: no toms except the father. A birthing den was a place for queens, she always said.

"Thanks," they said in unison before ducking into the neighboring box.

…

Demeter's family had been terrified when they learned she was pregnant. The golden queen wasn't as young as she once was, nor was she nearly as strong as she could have been. But while the birth had been difficult, their worst fears had failed to come to fruition; with her trademark stubborn courage, Demeter had refused to let anything Macavity did break her. Her newborn kit—a tom, just as the mystics had predicted—was cuddled up against his mother's side. He had Demeter's exact markings; but where she was gold, he was scarlet. It was a painful reminder of his parentage, but Jemima and Electra were more concerned about Demeter.

They padded hesitantly up to her. "Hi, mom," Jemima whispered when Demeter lifted her head weakly to see who they were. "How are you?"

Demeter managed a small smile, letting her head fall back to the sweater. "Tired," she answered obviously. "Now, what are you two doing here?" She flickered a smile at Jemima.

"We came to make sure you were all right," said Electra worriedly. Her own belly was beginning to swell, and just the day before Jenny had confirmed that she was pregnant. This had caused a lot of blushing on her part and even more hysterical laughter on Jemima and Quaxo's ("So you'll leave the breeding to us, will you?"), but by far the most beautiful reaction had been the ecstatic beam on Jerrie's face, and the fact that he had finally begun talking to people.

Demeter brushed a stray strand of fur behind Electra's ear. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

Jemima and Electra looked at each other, deciding not to go into detail about the mystic twins' mysterious reappearance. "It's a long story," said Jemima. Looking down at the little tom, she asked, "Are you going to introduce us?"

Demeter looked down at her only son with a disturbing lack of affection.

"He…he looks like you," Jemima offered, disconcerted.

Demeter shook her head. "He looks like _him,"_ she said bitterly.

Jemima waited for her half-sister to jump to the kit's defense, but she was staring at her newborn brother with a very strange look on her face. Seeing that she didn't plan to defend him, Jemima began, "He didn't choose his-"

"He doesn't look like either of you," said Electra suddenly.

"What?" said Jemima and Demeter in unison.

"Look at his face," Electra said urgently. "Ignore his markings and _really_ look at his face."

They complied, and after a few seconds they understood.

"Holy Heaviside," breathed Demeter.

The kitten looked exactly like Plato.

"It's the Jellicle Moon tonight," said Jemima slowly. "You don't think…" She trailed off, unable to voice the incredible thought.

After a time, Demeter spoke again. "If he is," she said, "it's for the Everlasting Cat to know, not us." Jemima hadn't heard that kind of trust in her voice since…well, since Munkustrap. But Demeter licked her youngster lovingly between his miniscule ears, and her daughter couldn't contain a quiet sigh of relief.

"So," she asked. "What are you going to name him?"

Demeter thought for a moment, then smiled and said, as if it were the clearest thing in the world, "Aristotle."

…

"Uncle Skimble?" asked Presto worriedly. "Why was Mom so scared?"

Skimbleshanks looked down at the young tuxedo tom. "Oh, your mother's going through a rough time right now. She'll come through. You just be on your best behavior for her, lad."

Presto nodded determinedly. "I will!"

"Me too!" Etruria piped up.

"Me three!" said Skipper, who had no idea what he was agreeing to but wasn't about to be left out.

"I'm _always_ on my best behavior!" called Monty, poking his head out of the tangled mass that had once been Skimbleshanks' carpet.

The railway cat chuckled. "Aye, lad. I can see that."

Jenny clucked her tongue. "You kits," she said affectionately. "Heaviside Layer! I declare I've never seen such a group of troublemakers. Not even the twins…" she trailed off, Rumpleteazer's fate coming back like a slap in the face.

Trying to break the sudden melancholy silence, Skimble said cheerfully, "Well! It's getting a wee bit late to be roughhousing, kits. What say I tell you young louts a story?"

This was greeted by an enthusiastic cheer. Since Gus had gone to Heaviside, Skimbleshanks had become the unofficial storyteller of the tribe. "So," he said, smiling and taking out his pipe, "Which story shall it be tonight?"

"The terrible tale of Firefrorefiddle," said Monty dramatically, pouncing on Presto's tail. "The Fiend of the Fell!"

"No," said Presto, frowning as he tried to tug his tail out of his brother's grasp. "Firefrorefiddle is scary!"

"Growltiger's last stand!" said Skipper enthusiastically, tripping over his own paws and tumbling to the ground in a heap as he tried to perform an excited jig. "Please, dad?"

"Will you tell us about the mail train, uncle Skimble?" asked Etruria sweetly.

Skimbleshanks smiled at the four kittens crowded around his sweater, but as he met Jenny's eyes, his smile turned sad. "No' tonight, lassie," he said gently, his Scottish accent becoming more pronounced. "Tonight I'm going to tell ye a story you've never heard before."

The kittens looked at each other, blinking wide eyes. This was obviously very special.

"This is a very old tale," began Skimbleshanks. "Back when the world was young…"

"Before the Junkyard was here?" asked Monty in awe.

"Before _London_ was here, lad. Yes, long before. This happened a long, long time ago in a land very far away. There was once a cat named Pandora. She was a fine Jellicle queen, with pure white fur-"

"-like Aunt Vic!"

"Are you going to let me tell the story, lad?"

"Sorry."

"Now. As I was saying, this Jellicle queen had pure white fur and bright green eyes, but she didn't have a mate. She had sworn she would never mate with any tom save one. She had fallen in love with him, and he with her, you see. But he was a sailor's cat—in those days, there were no railways! And one night, as he was out at sea, his hip struck a rock and sank, and he was drowned. The beautiful Pandora was left heartbroken and alone. Many other toms wished to be her mate, but her heart belonged to the tom who had been drowned, and she rejected all others."

"Like Aunt Vic," whispered Etruria sadly. Skipper wiggled over to her, and she purred.

Skimbleshanks smiled to himself to see them, but he tactfully refrained from mentioning it. "Pandora's loyalty to her mate was so strong that it drew the attention of Bast herself, the great servant of the Everlasting Cat. You see, all those many hundreds of years ago, Bast did not guard Jellicle cats as she does today, for the Everlasting Cat had charged her with a great mission. There was a box in Bast's possession that held all the evils of the world, and Bast was sworn to protect this box, for if it were ever opened, all the terrors inside would be unleashed. But Bast's heart was sore from spending so much time around these fearsome things. She longed to take a break, but there was nobody else to watch the box! When she saw the way Pandora stayed true to her mate, Bast said to herself, 'At last! Here is a Jellicle queen whom I can trust to guard my box.' When she approached Pandora and asked her to do this favor, Pandora was awed by the great goddess, and she agreed, swearing not to open the box.

"For an entire moon cycle, Pandora watched the box that Bast had entrusted to her. But one day, Pandora's human came across the box and—as humans are curious creatures—she opened it. Whoosh! Out flew all kinds of horrors. Thunder and lightning, fleas, distemper, even dogs were brought into the world!" The kittens shuddered and pressed closer together, Etruria squeezing Skipper's paw. "Terrified, the human queen slammed the lid of the box shut, but it was too late; the damage was done, and the human fled in panic.

"Pandora wanted to flee too, but something kept her where she was. She heard a faint voice coming from the box. 'Pandora!' it called. 'Let me out!"

"Pandora walked nervously up to the box. 'Who are you?' she asked.

"The box answered, 'I am the light in the darkness. You have never truly known my power, but now that such evil has been released, you need me. I swear I will help you. Only let me out.'"

"Pandora was very scared. She had seen all kinds of horrible things in that box, and she was afraid to open it again. But if the thing still trapped could help the world, she knew she had to be brave. She opened the box." Skimbleshanks paused dramatically, taking in the kittens' spellbound faces. "When Bast saw all the terrors suddenly present in the world, she flew back to Pandora, furious because she thought the queen had broken her promise. But then the Everlasting Cat herself stopped Bast from hurting Pandora, for she had seen her courage, and she told Bast what Pandora had done.

"When Bast heard this, she was no longer angry at Pandora. She took a tiny grain of her own divine magic and gave it to Pandora as a gift. And thus Pandora became the first Jellicle conjurer, for by her courage she had saved the world."

The three toms stared at Etruria in wonder, as if realizing for the first time that her magic was something very different; they had always taken for granted that it was just a part of who she was. Etruria, however, was thinking of something else.

"But uncle Skimble," she asked, frowning, "What was in the box?"

Skimbleshanks smiled down at her.

"Hope, lassie," he said softly. "Hope."


End file.
